Sherlock carefully crept over to the living room that morning and sat on John's chair, curling up with his knees pressed to his chest until the soldier woke up. And when John eventually did, he shifted to a more natural –and honestly comfortable- position. All the while, John only stared, still half-asleep with his mouth slightly agape, at the detective, not being able to rationalize why the man wasn't in his own seat. But hey, it was too early to think anyways. He grumbled, scratched his behind and made his way to the kitchen.
"Had breakfast yet?" He yawned, opening the fridge. John actually missed seeing a human limb cooling down between the vegetables. It's been years since he'd seen any fingers or eyeballs. John remembered the feeling of wanting to go out to buy some, just two years after Sherlock's 'death' for the sake of decorating the fridge in the way he had become so accustomed to.
"No."
John couldn't help yawning again when heard the quiet reply from behind him. "Want some?" He turned himself towards the other man.
No answer.
Sighing and shaking his head, John returned his attention to the fridge and slowly exhaled the rest of the sleep off him. He grabbed the milk and decided to chow on some Cheerios today.
When the meal was fully prepared, he grabbed a spoon and walked over to Sherlock, sitting in his chair. John grinned mentally; he was sitting in Sherlock's seat. Moving on, he asked, "How was your first night home?" John chewed on his first spoonful of cereal.
Sherlock shrugged, turning his attention towards the window. The outside light revealed almost unnoticeable dark circles under his eyes.
John wasn't surprised when he saw them since Sherlock had barely slept anyways. "Sherlock, would you please tell me with words how your night was?" John honestly just wanted the man to talk. He'd theorized that the more he made Sherlock open up, the more likely John would figure out what had happened to him that had left him so broken. Patience John, patience, it's all a matter of time until he's back to normal.
Again, Sherlock shrugged, but thankfully he added 'it was all right' at the end.
John nodded.
Finishing up his breakfast, he suddenly remembered Greg. "Sherlock, uh- Lestrade's coming over today." John heard the man shift in his seat. He included, "It's more over personal reasons than business-related things."
Once again, when he faced Sherlock, the latter shrugged remotely.
John just raised his phone for Sherlock to see. "Just going to make sure about this meeting." Before John left, he said, "And go feed yourself, Sherlock. You look like you're made of twigs, about to snap."
Sherlock breathed deeply, as if he hadn't listened to John.
When the soldier had left the room, the detective was already prepared to migrate to the sofa.
"Don't be surprised if he ignores you, Greg." John said over the phone, back on the cold entrance of 221b Baker Street.
"Well, according to what you've told me, I'd be more surprised if he replied at all." Lestrade said on the other side of the call.
John wasn't sure if the Detective Inspector had meant that as a joke or as a worried statement. Either way he continued. "Sherlock knows about your visit. So we'll be expecting you whenever you're ready. It's not like we're going to do much today anyways." John said.
"I can sneak out a visit right now if you want. Luckily things have been rather slow this morning."
"Oh, don't risk yourself for us." John chuckled.
He heard Lestrade laugh as well. "I'm doing it for Sherlock. Plus, he's gotten me into enough trouble to last a lifetime." He said, definitely not joking. "Another day added to that won't hurt much."
John nodded. "I apologize on his behalf Greg. Honestly I-"
"It's ok John. At least I managed to keep my job."
"Hmm." The soldier couldn't find the right words to say after that. He changed the subjects. "So we'll see you in a few?"
"Yeah. Cheers."
Then the call ended.
After John reentered the living room, he saw Sherlock facing the couch again. "Will you do that every time I'm away?" He asked, strangely enjoying being able to sit on his own couch.
Sherlock turned and sat upright, stretching his legs before him.
"Did you eat?" John asked, much like a concerned lonely father over his only sick son.
Sherlock proceeded to show John an empty coffee –or possibly tea- mug and stood suddenly. He walked to his room without a word and came back minutes later, fully dressed.
"For Lestrade?" John raised an eyebrow, tapping his fingers on the armrests.
Sherlock nodded and sat back down on the couch on the end that was closer to John, who turned on the telly while they waited for the DI.
It took Lestrade around 20 minutes to arrive. But it felt that he had taken much longer. During the wait, Mrs. Hudson had come in to say hello, John had changed his clothes (after realizing he was still in his pajamas) and then the flatmates had watched a boring soap opera on TV.
So when Lestrade finally knocked on the door, John had to double check his watch to make sure it was really only 9:45 in the morning.
John couldn't help smiling a bit. Having a friend over would brighten up the gloomy flat.
Until the moment when he opened the door and saw that Greg Lestrade had company. His smile slid right off.
Right next to the Scotland Yard's DI stood Sally Donovan.
"What's –what're you- Sally?" John stumbled over his words and frowned, on the verge of shooing the woman away.
Lestrade had a sorry look on his face. "She overheard our conversation on the phone."
"Why did you let her come?"
"Sergeant Donovan was very persistent. Don't worry. I've warned her to keep this a secret."
John practically stared daggers at the woman. "And you will keep this secret." It was practically her fault –and Anderson's, that they made Sherlock and him a fugitive that fateful night before the fall.
She raised her eyebrows and scoffed. "Obviously! Greg has practically threatened me with my job over this. Look, I'm on your side now, ok? And I've just come to apologize. Once I've done that, I'll be going back to the Yard. I've got a job to do, you know?"
John was about to retaliate when he realized what she had just done. Sally Donovan had come over to see Sherlock just to say she was sorry? At loss over the words to say, John managed, "Um, thank you. Sherlock would uh- appreciate that."
She nodded, trying to keep on a serious face. Well, maybe Sally was torturing her pride today, but she was doing the right thing.
"Does anyone else know?" John turned to Lestrade again.
The Detective Inspector motioned with his head, "Only her for now."
The soldier stepped aside and asked them to come in. Then he whispered, "Remember. We've got to spread the news very slowly-"
"John, I know."
"It's just us for now." Sally jumped in.
John nodded and walked up the stairs, the two following close behind.
When both saw Sherlock sitting on the couch, they went pale.
But the detective only stared back without a single emotion visible, even when he noticed that Donovan was in the same room.
She was the one that started to speak first. "Sherlock- um, I-" Lestrade had probably warned her about the unresponsiveness, yet she still seemed a little shocked. "I'm sorry for doubting you the way I did." Her answer seemed rushed and rehearsed. "And I'm pleased to see that you are alive." Sally Donovan nodded. "Yeah, that was it. See you at work one day, freak."
John bit his lower lip and swore he would've punched her if only he hadn't heard her snivel quietly while making her way downstairs. John sighed and checked on Sherlock. As expected there hadn't been any reactions. Just him sitting down, still staring at where Donovan was, as silent could be.
It was Lestrade's turn now. He eyed the floor to find something to say. He began with, "So you're alive after all, huh?"
Sherlock began to tap his fingers on the armrest, appearing to be paying attention.
John asked Lestrade to take a seat, which he did –on John's couch.
The Detective Inspector continued. "Have you been doing much? During the years, I mean?"
Sherlock stopped tapping, shrugged and continued.
Lestrade smirked. He looked at John in a way that said: I got him to respond! John, in turn, smiled. Good, we're making some progress then.
The almost one-sided conversation ended fairly well. Lestrade had managed successfully to extract some minor responses from the consulting detective during his visit, leaving him rather happy. John hadn't said much throughout the visit. This time had been reserved especially for the DI to catch up with his detective.
"That's all the time I have for now, chaps." Said Lestrade after checking his watch at one point. He stood to leave and John followed to show the man to the door. "I'd better check on Sergeant Donovan. You all heard her sniffs, didn't you? Anyways, I'll drop by again one day to give you some cases to work on, Sherlock."
The detective nodded once, visually looking bored and uninterested, and watched them disappear into the hallway.
When the two men reached the door, Lestrade frowned with worry, his previous cheerful mood apparently gone.
"Sherlock's worse off then I thought." He told John, who nodded. Lestrade put a hand on his shoulder as a friendly gesture. "I know he'll come to. He needs time to get used to this life again, I bet." John smiled.
"Thank you for taking some of your time to come visit, Greg. I'm genuinely grateful for it." He chuckled. "And I'm sure he was happy that you visited, although I can't say the thing for Donovan."
"Like I said, the woman's persistent." Greg's cell began to ring. "This is my cue. Duty calls, literally."
The men shared a few more laughs and chuckled before exchanging goodbyes.
This was becoming an exercise now. Walking up and down the stairs.
Maybe if Sherlock got some fresh air, it'd do him some good. Yes. That was a good idea.
Perhaps if we went out tomorrow, I wonder if he'd enjoy it… John speculated, making it to the top of the stairs and almost tripping over the last step.